


Into the Dark Night

by Lady_Phenyx



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Basil of Baker Street Series - Eve Titus, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Enemy Mine - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29475300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Phenyx/pseuds/Lady_Phenyx
Summary: After getting caught in a life or death chase, help comes for Basil from an...unexpected source.Day 05 WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOINGOn the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952818
Kudos: 14





	Into the Dark Night

Blades of grass whipped overhead, nearly blocking out the light from the moon.

The sounds of pursuit were fading, but Basil could still hear them, even over the sound of his own footfalls, the heavy beating of his heart and gasping breaths.

They'd surprised him on the way back from the theater in the small town he and Dawson were visiting, and knocked him out somehow, brought him out here. To some criminal who thought he'd set himself up as the next Ratigan, and establish that from the start by hunting down Ratigan's main foe and somehow proving himself superior.

Basil had lost most of them by now, but there were a few that were persistent, natural predator enough to keep on his trail even after every trick he'd pulled out.

His breath rasped harshly in his lungs, and he could barely draw a full breath by now. His legs were shaking, and Basil knew he was slowing down.

And he was afraid.

If they caught up with him, he was a dead mouse.

But he was so tired, and nearly out of tricks.

His foot slipped on the wet ground, sending him tumbling down a short hill and into the woods.

He lay there, gasping for breath, sharp pains radiating up his leg.

Basil wasn't sure just what he'd done to it, but he wasn't sure how much longer his leg would hold him in its condition.

There was a hiss from farther along in the grass, rustling and jeering calls for him to come out. They were catching up.

Basil forced trembling arms to push him to his feet. He wouldn't face them like this, not lying on the ground. He'd face them on his feet, even if it was at the last moments of his life.

A paw grabbed onto his bicep, yanking him farther into the woods, and he couldn't quite suppress a yelp.

A second paw clapped across his mouth as the first dragged him against a solid chest, arm locking him into place.

“Be quiet,” a voice hissed, and Basil went still.

He _knew_ that voice.

But why would...?

Those same paws shoved him into a small hollow of rock, sheltered on four sides, as Ratigan planted himself in front of the small entrance.

Basil stumbled into the hollow, collapsing onto the ground from the force. He scrambled to his knees, a paw to the rock, watching Ratigan's cape, which blocked most of the entrance, letting him see only slivers around the fabric, in exhausted confusion.

Basil's pursuers had stopped at the edge of the woods, and he could hear them milling about in confusion.

There was a hush.

Basil was tempted to try and see around Ratigan, but he had a feeling it would look humiliatingly like a child peeking around their mother's skirts, so he held in place, confused, panting softly, and afraid still.

“There you are,” Ratigan drawled, as if they were meeting in a ballroom rather than the edge of the woods at night. “The little upstart trying to take what is rightfully mine.”

“You...but...how...?”

Basil could picture the razor sharp grin Ratigan sported at the spluttered, angry words.

“You aren't nearly the player you fancy yourself as,” he said. “I would have let our little game play out – it is _such_ fun to watch people who think they're champions come up against a real player – but you tried to take what's mine. I'm afraid I can't let that pass. Dorian?”

The woods exploded with the sharp report of a gunshot. Then another, and another, and through the ringing in his ears Basil could just make out the remaining pursuers fleeing, yelling and shouting among themselves.

The woods slowly fell silent once again.

“Thank you, Dorian. Well done,” Ratigan said. Dorian was one of the few who could get a compliment – let alone a polite 'thank you' – like that out of Ratigan. “If you wish to follow, I won't stop you. Better to nip this in the bud than draw it out.”

Basil assumed Dorian took Ratigan up on that, given there was a brief rustle of the grass before the feeling of being alone resumed.

Alone with his arch nemesis and the person who had tried to kill him multiple times before now, while he was exhausted and injured and _alone._

Ratigan slowly turned, staring down at Basil. The clouds covered the moon, casting him in silhouette and throwing his shadow over Basil.

What little Basil could see of Ratigan was pressed and perfect, as though he had just come from London, while Basil could feel the dirt and sweat coating his fur, the way his coat was torn and askew, the way he was still breathing too fast and hard while his leg throbbed.

The clouds moved, and the moon shone down on them both.

Ratigan's eyes were hard as they traveled over Basil's body, and Basil gave the best glare he could under the circumstances back, knowing it was all bark and no bite right now.

Ratigan crouched, reach for Basil. Basil ducked away from the reaching paw, but the gloved paw came to rest on his cheek despite that.

“How dare they touch what is mine,” Ratigan murmured. “What Dorian doesn't clean up, I'll have to deal with at my leisure. For now...”

He leaned forward, and Basil stiffened, waiting for the blow.

Instead, he found himself being carried, princess style, in Ratigan's arms.

A thousand and one questions were running through his head, but Basil wasn't quite sure it was safe to break this strange truce, whatever it was.

Ratigan's paws were clasping him tightly, but otherwise acting as though Basil were made out of glass. It was a very strange sensations, especially considering how often those same paws were raised to him in violence.

Basil had the scars to prove it.

But for now he didn't bring it up. Just kept his paws curled tight to his chest and stayed silent.

He was too exhausted to match wits with Ratigan right now. He was trying to find energy, dig it up from somewhere, anywhere, borrow it from later, but he was being carried gently and after the adrenaline and terror his body was insisting on acting as though he were safe.

He didn't even know where they were going. Ratigan could be kidnapping him – probably was kidnapping him – and he was just...letting it happen.

Of course, the fact that he was too exhausted to stand was playing into that, but it was all so strange he didn't know what to do.

The silent trip seemed to take both forever and was over in moments, stretched out time in a dreamlike state with everything both softened and sharpened by the moonlight until the lights of town came into view.

Basil could see the police swarming about the streets. The criminals had to be in jail, then, and he could see the ones who'd been chasing him being shoved into the building.

Dorian must have chased them this way and they'd chosen the uncertain future over the certain.

Basil considered calling out. More than once.

He wasn't sure why he didn't.

There were cries of alarm as a constable caught sight of them, before a hush fell over the crowds.

Ratigan was well known by now, and well feared.

And to see him carrying his mortal enemy had them all struck speechless and baffled.

Ratigan passed through them, the constables parting around him like the Red Sea.

Basil was never going to live this down.

Ratigan placed him down on the wide fountain edge. He glanced around at their audience imperiously, head tilting.

“Spread the word. Basil is _my_ enemy. Anyone else who attempts to touch him will answer to _me._ ”

Having been suitably melodramatic, Ratigan swirled his cape and disappeared back into the darkness before the constables could move to arrest him.

Probably just as well, Basil thought as the spell over the street began to fade. If Ratigan had so many _opinions_ about who could and could not attack Basil, he probably had just as many about who was 'allowed' to arrest him.

And Basil didn't have it in him to deal with that tonight. Not on top of everything else, as eyes began to turn towards him.

Basil went to stand and wobbled on his still injured leg, breaking the last of the spell. A half dozen constables rush him, and he bit back exasperation.

A constable with sense sent others off to find Dawson, to let him know Basil's been found and injured, while the others help Basil towards the nearest hotel.

For tonight, he'll have a bath, and let Dawson tend his leg, and he'll tell Dawson what happened tonight – all of it.

And in the morning, he'll tell an edited version to the chief constable.

But that's a problem for tomorrow, and for tonight, he's tired, and confused, and he needs time to clear his head.

Everyone else can wait.

\---XXX---

Out in the edges of town, skirting it to make his way towards the train station, Dorian caught up to Ratigan.

“Was that wise, sir?” he asked, the only one allowed to question Ratigan and who dared to do so.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it's done.”

“It would have been easy to take him.”

“Too easy. It has to be on my terms and by my hand.” Ratigan glanced back over his shoulder at the bright lights, eyes glittering in the dark. “By my hand, or not at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those confused about who Dorian is: he's in the books, not the movie. He's Ratigan's second in command and, otherwise, given little to no characterization. Free Real Estate. :)


End file.
